


Running in the Knight

by felixies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixies/pseuds/felixies
Summary: With only a rumor and legend of a weapon to take down the most evil creatures, you set out on a journey. Months of heresay leads you to a forest in the middle of nowhere. Demons and hellhounds chase you with one saving grace: a tall, grey-bearded man with a penchant for sarcasm.





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by "First Born". Some things in here were inserted for a past I may or may not turn into a different story. One thing I do like is sassy Cain. Be kind in the comments please!

Running through a forest. Moonlight breaks the darkness, shines a thin veil of clouds, lighting a path for you. Ears adjust to branches crunching under your feet. "Come out and play," a rumbling voice echoes. Low growls, scattered leaves, demons and hellhounds surround you. Metal snaps and dog-like yelps curl your lips into a wicked smile.

"Three to go," you whisper, climbing a tree. Seeing two demons stop under you, they scan the path of leaves, tracking where you last ran. Hands cover your mouth, muting the heavy breathing, hoping your heartbeat won’t give away your position.

“Hurry up and figure out where she went,” the tall brunette demon orders. He grips his dagger tight. “The sooner we find her, the sooner we’ll tell Crowley and be in his good graces.”

“Quit yammering and let me do my job,” the shorter blonde demon snips. Seeing dead leaves crackle near a tree stump, he smiles. “Looks like she decided to perch like a cat.”

Demon eyes start tracing the tree trunk where you sit up high when a crack in the distance reverberates.

“Or to throw us off. Let’s go. Take the left. I’ll go right,” the brunette commands pulling out a blade.

“Just save me her face. Love to see her beg for mercy as I make my marks,” the blonde calls taking out his own blade. They quickly scatter towards the sound. Once the pitter patter fades, you climb down and lay more traps.

A click of the gun stops you frozen. "Turn around." A hollow voice shivers through your body, as if commanding you against your will. Slowly moving, you catch eyes on a tall man, clearly not part of the demon herd chasing you through the forest. Must be a local. "What are you doing here?" he threatens.

"Just got lost. Don't mean any trouble," you reason. Pulling out a tattered map, your shaky voice explains, “I was trying to find the main road. I’m traveling across the state and was looking for a pit stop.”

"Head southwest. Four miles out. You get into your grey car, and don't stop driving. Away from here," he commands. Suddenly a shot knocks the man down. No movement. Not even a twitch. A smiling grin from a tall silhouette rushes the blood to your heart desperately begging you to sprint in the opposite direction. Your gaze frozen.

“Run,” he shouts. “It makes the kill much more satisfying.”

Not taking any chances, you grab the dead man's gun and run. Your feet push hard onto the ground, kicking loose dirt and leaves. Thoughts of how that mysterious man even knew the color of your car is far from your mind. Before long, paws slam against your back, knocking you hard onto the ground. Your hands tried to break your fall, but were not quick enough to take the impact. Ribs break as you gasp for breath. Paws dig deep into your jeans. Growls envelope your ears, claws tear clothes and skin. Turning around, you shoot the hellhounds down with little damage done. You push yourself up, but catch a breath as a blade is pressed to your neck. The brunette demon smiles, his toothy grin showing more animal than what use to be a man. Looking over to the side, the blonde man joins his partner, tapping his blade on his hand, waiting for his turn. "You are a quick and annoying hunter. Don't worry, that'll end soon. Just tell us where Cain is located. What do you know of the First Blade?"

You crack a smile, thinking of all the crap you had to face the past few months dealing with that demon blade. Crashing the Winchester's cases, bribing for information, even torturing demons. You have the scars to prove your worth these past few months. You chuckle, "Go right back to hell because I don't know crap," you spat out with joy. Only going on heresay, your admission is as close to the truth as they'll get.

"Bull. Crowley has been searching the blade for decades, many demons make the weapon their only mission. We know how close you are to finding it. Just point us in the right direction and and if you're a good girl, we'll treat you right in hell," the brunette demon says pressing the blade, puncturing a light cut.

"Alright," you plead. Your eyes flick over to a familiar figure behind them. The glint of metal signaling your miracle. "Just start walking northeast and you'll find it buried under the tallest tree."

When they turn around, a shot rings through the head of the brunette demons. The blonde demon turns to you, ready to stab his blade onto you chest. Reflexes take over as you take your pistol from your boot, pull the trigger dead. "Not bad," the same man compliments standing over you.

Falling back, you laugh, "I thought you were dead." The moon reappears out of the clouds. Its light shining over your body. His eyes graze over your broken and bleeding form. Scanning for other sounds, he breathes a sigh of frustration and resignation.

He wraps an arm around your waist. Your weight is nothing to him, but more fragile than others. "They're lousy shots. Come on, let's go get you sorted out. My cabin is only a mile out."


	2. Stitches

The same moonlight shines over a small cabin and a nearby windmill. The glow of the porch light reaches over his face. Finally starting to make out his features, you notice his well groomed beard, short gray hair, and his eyes, weathered and broken by age beyond what he appears. 

Your care is the last thing on his mind. Walking through the door, he unceremoniously drops you on a chair in his kitchen. Pain courses through your whole body. Trying to get up, you finds yourself wounded, unable to move. Eyes tracing his form, you watch him pull out a drawer, dropping a first aid kit at the table. Grabbing his pistol and sword, he calls behind him, "I will check to see if we were followed. If you decide to die, do it outside. I do not want to get my carpet stained."

With a close of the door, you lean back in exhaustion. Bringing your hand up to see the bright crimson blood staining your fingers, you look over to the mirror on your left. Gash marks, claw marks, bruises color your skin. Your body shakes on the armchair push yourself up, groping for the first aid kit. You scoff at the many slash marks torn through your jacket and blue flannel shirt. "I really liked these clothes too." A large slash over your chest will be difficult to dress with your jacket and shirt on. You take them off, slowly, but a realization strikes you. You can't move your right hand, right arm for the matter. Thanking that you wore this particular flannel, you start unbuttoning the front. Carefully pulling the shirt down your body, you're left with jeans, boots, and your black bra. “Just get it done quick and get the jacket back on.”

Stifling groans of pain, you sew one of your cuts up. Seeing a bottle of bourbon on the far end of the table, you pours two fingers worth in a glass. "Whoever does this sober is a madman." Seeing a bottle of bourbon on the far end of the table, you push yourself off the chair, barely able to stand as you pour two fingers worth in a glass. Thinking of the torture to sit back down, you take advantage of getting near the mirror. At least you can see what you’re closing up, as gruesome as it looks. 

When Cain comes back, he immediately stops in his tracks looking at the hunter half naked and trying to seal her wounds. It has been centuries since he has laid eyes on a woman that open and vulnerable. Not since... He shakes his head to clarity. While you are doing the job, using only one good hand slows down the process. "You're going to bleed to death before you finish half of your cuts," he grumbles.

"Yeah well you were busy outside and I couldn't wait," you say, starting on a wound on your right shoulder, near your collarbone. Having to use the mirror near the kitchen, you stood in steady concentration.

Cain watches her as he sets his gun down. Examining your body, he sees so many more cuts and scars closed up long ago on her back, arms. There is an especially long and deep scar across your back, possibly from a sword. Standing behind her, he sarcastically suggests, "Did you ever think dodging would be a good idea?"

You chuckle low, but wince at the string pulling through your skin. "Where would be the fun in that?"

He places his hands on your shoulders, turning you around and sitting you back down on a chair. He kneels, taking hold of the needle in your hand and continues sewing. "So you're the type of person who shoots and ask questions later."

"I can be careful," you point out, but stops when his eyes catch gaze into yours. Your breath hitches without a second thought. "When I want to be careful," you clarify. 

"Thank you for helping. I don't even know your name."

"Cain," he simply puts, finishing up the one you started.

"Nice to meet you, Cain. I'm...." You start, but your mind freezes at the name. Cain. It cannot a coincidence. 

Not bothering to push further, he sees a slash go across your chest, he starts pulling the straps down. The sudden contact causes you to blush and you try to keep your breathing steady. Seeing the change in demeanor, he realizes why you are at a loss of words. He moves his hands away from her. "I apologize. I should have let you do that yourself. This cut is hard to close with these straps in the way"

"No, it's okay." You pull enough of the bra down for him to sew up the wound.

"Why were those men after you?" Cain asks.

"They knew I was trying to get something," you say coyly.

"A weapon," Cain points out, watching for any other change.

"Yes," you simply say.

"My weapon," Cain pushes further.

"Yes," you confirm. The hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. “I never gave you my name. I’m -”

“No need. I know you.” His blue eyes locks on with yours. “You hunt with the Winchesters. Made a name for yourself sacrificing your life to close the gates of Purgatory.”

You wince both at his knowledge of you and the needle prodding your skin. “It needed to be done to save everyone on Earth.”

“It was a foolish move,” Cain snipes. “Where did your soul go when you died?”

You eyes look down. Never have you explained what happened to anyone. Not even Sam and Dean know where you went. You just appeared in their bunker months after the gates closed. But this is a person who has lived through all of human civilization. Death is not a luxury. “I went to heaven.”

Cain’s hands stop moving. He sees your gaze fixated on the floor. He only knew of your death and sudden reappearance. This woman in front of him has been to heaven and back.

“What was heaven like?” he asks, continuing onto your wounds.

“Complicated,” was the first word out of your mouth. “My heaven was complicated. My family is there. Many of my friends are there.”

“Was it peaceful?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say nostalgically. “It would have been perfect if...” you trail off.

“How are you even back in the living? It’s impossible!” Cain asks desperately. If she can come back, who is to say that his brother can’t come back too?

“I don’t know.” Nothing rings truer than that statement. “But this is my body and my soul intact. I’m not angel nor demon. Nothing supernatural. Just me.”

Cain wants to push further, learn how she came back to Earth after tasting paradise, but as far as he can tell, she has said all she knows. If some heavenly being brought her back to do God’s work, then the last thing she needs is someone like a Knight of Hell to corrupt her. "Ever thought of getting an anti-possession tattoo? It keeps demons at bay," Cain suggests, changing subjects, and pushing down his desires to change what was fate.

"After I get what I came here for," you push.

"Bold talk for someone who is at my mercy," Cain says as he digs deep into the skin. Your teeth digs deep onto your lips. "You must know I don't like guests. As soon as you are gone, forget about me and what you are trying to get."

"But if I have the First Blade," you start.

"It would still be useless to you. Not without this," Cain shows the mark on his arm. "And there is no way I am going to give anyone this. It's my burden for all eternity." He gets up and puts the first aid kit away. "Like I said, as soon as you're better, you leave and never come back."


	3. Harkened Pasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two hunters. Both alike in destiny. If only they realize how alike they are.

Flashes of grey fill your vision. Two plumes of black smoke dart through the trees, and you clasp onto the dagger tight, ready for any trouble coming your way. Two demons in colonial military uniforms stand with muskets ready, slight grins on their faces. With a matching grin on your own, you slash and stab until what’s left of their bodies fall limp on the dry acrid ground. There was no chance of regret.

Your ears perk up to a guttural scream, one too familiar in tone. Grey brush and branches scratch your face, feet stopping short from the cliff’s edge. A hooded figure on the ground holds shallow breaths. Curiosity pulls back the shadow, uncovering the mysterious visage. Dark eyes trail up to your blue. “Brother,” he murmurs. He looks down as his hand grips tightly to the wound. You hold the same jawbone dagger, now bloodied, in horror. 

“I’m sorry,” you swallow. The weapon drops. Hands clutch onto the scratchy black fabric. “Forgive me. Please.”

“Why?” he sputters out, coughing out blood. “I was his chosen one, and you took that away.”

“It wasn’t God,” you hurry, trying to stop the bleeding, using your own hand as a cork. “It was better this way. Rest now, Brother.” You see his eyes glaze over. Betrayal. His hand falls to the floor. End. But Paradise waits for him.

Cain jolts up in bed. Heart beats rapid, ready to tear through his chest. He clasps a pillow tight, as if reaching out for a saving grace. The morning sunlight drips through the curtains. Sleep is a luxury for the living. He thinks long and hard of how it was even possible for him. 

Thinking back to the night before, he remembers. You. A wrinkle in his hermitic life. He sags back onto his bed. His hand floats through his hair, wanting the memories to fade away. A straining scream wakes him to walk downstairs.

But it was just a regular night. He was doing his patrol around his land, making sure that no one knows of his existence. Middle America lends itself to a Knight of Hell. It is easier to disappear than what lets on with technology. He needed to get away from any human contact.

You were a fluke. Someone who got passed traps because those chasing you were getting stuck in them. 

Without realizing, his feet carries him downstairs. He sees your sleeping figure on his yellow couch. The grey blanket is left on the ground and your eyes are darting back and forth, your eyelids alight with some dream or nightmare. He grabs the gauze and medicine on the coffee table. Though hours ago, the gauze is stained deep red. He wonders why he even bothers to help you. “Humans are so fragile,” he whispers to no one, unwrapping the gauze around your wrist. No reaction come from you, no matter how much he is manhandling you. “What must you think of me,” he starts, realizing that any kind of sound or movement won’t wake you for hours. “A demon healing the sick.”

He sees the scars on your body, both old and new. “What makes you think you can handle the mark if you get trampled by a couple hellhounds and demons?” He gently applies he salve. “And how did you even fall from heaven? They realized you weren’t all that angelic?” he jokes to himself. “Still, staying dead would be better than a life like this.” Tying off the gauze, he huffs, “Though I’ve got to admit. This has been an interesting run in so far. Wonder what you have left to show.”

“Lots I hope,” you mutter. Too focused on redressing your wounds, he looks up to see your eyes wide open.

“You’ve been awake this whole time,” Cain realizes.

Rubbing your eyelids, you confess, “I only caught the whole staying dead bit. You said other stuff before that?”

“No,” Cain covers as he closes the first aid kit. “You must be hungry. Can you eat?”

“Oh yes, just something small though. I don’t know how much range of motion I have,” you confess.

A crocodile jawbone is held steadfast under your fingertips, ready for any trouble coming your way. Two Leviathans drop down. Thinking they have outmanned you, they glare with dripping smiles. They’re just like the others. All talk, but no bite. They swipe at you, but the jagged edge of the jawbone tears through their insides. Screaming and strain are now melodies to your ears. The mark of a successful day.

There is a shrill, one too familiar to you. Panting breaths, your feet stop short of a pond. Even the water pales in comparison to the purity in the living world. How you missed the color blue. Even its memory fades, almost forgetting the haint beauty in its design. Your eyes trail to the figure backing towards a tree with vampires in tow. You thrash forward, slicing them in twain. As the last head drops, a voice mutters your name. “Castiel?” you grope, hoping for familiarity.

“Watch out!” he shouts pointing over your shoulder. Before you could look back, a hand clasps your neck. Digits digging into your breath of life.

You wake up in a fright on the yellow couch, a woven grey blanket covers your body. 

Shaking out the feeling of the nightmare fails. Flashes of the moment you ran into the demon jolts pain down your right arm held by a white sling. Your fingers brush over your flannel. Last thing you remember was Cain sewing up the large slash across your chest and resetting your shoulder. The snap of your ball and socket resetting shudders through. 

It's been a few days now. Stuck on the couch, unable to inch forward. Today has been a better day. You are able to stand on your own without any help. Still sore, you hobble over to the kitchen, mouth salivating at the fresh eggs, milk, and sausages in the fridge. Before you could imagine what breakfast to cook, the door slams closed. "What gives?" you demand, staring at the tall figure right next to you. 

"I earned this food from my hard work. When you do the same, you will get food in return," Cain spells out. “Especially when your car needs a complete fix. Parts will be upwards several thousand dollars.” He watches you deflate from the realization that you’re stuck. In the middle of nowhere. With him. "First task, pull the weeds from the garden." Showing you to the backyard, your mouth drops open at the vastness of the field.

"This is your garden?" you shrink. Flowers of all kinds bloom in a medley of color. Roses, sunflowers, and daisies are only the few dozen kinds scattering the lush green field. For the original demon, he has a light touch for the care of living things, at least as plants go. “It’s awesome.”

“Thank you,” Cain gratifies. Suppose human company does have its advantages. He places the gloves in your hand. “You know what? I forgot.” He pulls out one glove. “You’re working with a broken wing.” He bends down, his mouth next to your ear, "Be sure to water my plants when you are done weeding. I suggest you start before the sun rises too high." You glare at his back as he walks to the cabin. Grabbing the raw leather glove between your teeth, you struggle to slip fingers inside.

How much you want to slap that demon. If only you can drive your car out of this small town. Sure it took the better part of the year just to get a honing spell on the weapon only to find out it led you to the demon himself. Then there is the mark. Staring at your own arm, you wonder how much power lies within that scar. You look over at the driveway at your beat up car. Tires slashed, windows smashed in, and the engine broken. Pitiful. Those demons did more than a number on your baby without a second glance. They really wanted to get out that information from you. Luckily you had the knight of hell on your side. But at what cost?

Midday arrives fast. Sweat drips through the hairs on your head down to coat your back. Your flannel shirt is on its last leg, newly sewn thread to patch up the holes matches the newly adorned scars on your body. From scar to another, you hear the back door creak. Blue eyes. Like an ocean.

“Not bad for a city girl,” Cain teases. He checks out the rag doll in front of him. He has seen tougher beings. He’s killed many larger than you. In a different life, he would have made her a knight. You trip over a log, falling over in less of a graceful way to the lush green grass. All because you were trying to pull the hose back into its holder. Maybe not. He hands you an ice-cold lemonade. "There are some cold cuts and fresh tomatoes in the fridge." You shake off the feeling. Been staring too long. "Have you eaten? I'm sure I can whip something up for you," you offer.

"Don't worry about me," Cain says simply.

You step inside the kitchen, finally able to wipe some dirt and sweat off your face. It has been a few days now at Cain's cabin. It has been your job to tend to his garden. You started to clean his house, and even cook for the two of you. No matter what, he always refuses your cooking, insisting on making his own. how good your beef stew tastes. You start to sympathize with Cain’s yearning to be alone. The quiet serene are enticing, putting you under a spell to consider staying in such a sleepy town. The two of you are even starting to become cordial to each other. Maybe the quiet life suits you more than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being quite honest, I know exactly how the ending will happen. The only reason why I'm publishing things pretty late is because I don't have the middle parts set. Please be patient and kind as I try to figure it out.


End file.
